


the world fell apart. didn't you notice?

by liberate



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 13:36:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5628487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liberate/pseuds/liberate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they look at you and see hundred percent stardust, collapsed into a human form.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the world fell apart. didn't you notice?

**shade one**.

Sometimes, you still wake up screaming. When you do, you want to tell yourself not to be such a child, that there is nothing to be afraid of, that you are so much stronger than you think in those dreams.

Instead you lie there, your throat aching from the silent screams ( _sometimes, they are not silent, sometimes he hears them and shakes you, until you wake up, whispering your name over and over again, until your ears vibrate from the sound_ ), staring at the grey ceiling, reciting the stars your father taught you before he left you alone. You know that you will always remember them, know them like the back of your own hand, because you see them everywhere. In the light freckles on your forearms when you get ready for the day, in the galaxy outside of your cockpit, in the eyes of everyone you love. Especially him and her.

When you are awake, you know that. When you dream, everything vanishes, and there is only a face hidden behind a dark mask, there is only pain and you want to scream, you want to break and pour everything out, your heart, your fears, your story. The man behind the mask digs into your mind, creeps into your bones and nestles himself in there, and of course you left, but at the same you feel like you didn't. Because a part of you still there, in that room, trapped in all that pain.

And that part scares you, because no matter how hard you try to get rid of it, it always finds its way back to you, into that comforting spot your broken bones hold, between the fifth and the forth rip. And it sits there and haunts you when you sleep, and when he tells you he loves everything about you, you nod and agree -

but no one could ever love that part of you.

**shade two**.

As a child, you wanted to be a smuggler. Afterwards, you wanted to be a farmer, like your father.  
After your father's death, you haven't wanted anything for a while. You just wanted to be happy ever again.

Now, you are a pilot. Not a pilot, the pilot, and when you call yourself the best pilot in the galaxy, you mean – not because you want to show off, but you feel pride when you say it. This is not about your father, this is about you telling him you could fly anything, and meaning it. This is about you being able to trust yourself completely, and not regretting it.

Piloting comes easy to you, like being nice does. Smiling is so much easier these days, with self-confidence and them around you, covering you when you mess up, because sometimes you do. Sometimes, you try things that are too big for you, sometimes you are a little too forward or a little too flirty, and sometimes you mess up. Sometimes you forget that you are human.

They are always around to remind you.

**shade three**.

Sometimes you lie. Not about the big things, when you whispers _I love you_ into his ear, when you tell him the sky is not the limit anymore when they are together, since they met. Not when you tell her she is someone, not when you found her crying that night, arms hugged tightly around her knees, face covered by loose strands of hair. You sat her next to her until the morning crawled through the window, hugging her, telling her stories about how your father died and how he made you laugh every time.

Sometimes, you just don't tell people about things. About the little things – concealing your feelings comes as a habit, as long as they interfere with the way other people see you. You don't tell them about the way your hands shake sometimes, about how they only stop when you fly, feeling the covered metal under your fingertips. You don't tell them about the worse nights, when nothing seems right and the sky comes crashing down. You don't tell them about the boys you loved before, and about the way they broke your heart.

You don't tell them about your fears, because fears don't fit a person like you – they think you are fearless, and you let them believe it. In fact, you are happy to. ( _you're lying to them, poe_ ), whispers the face in the mirror, and most days you answer it's for the best. some days, you only close your eyes and turn away, because you are too tired to fight yourself day and day again.

And when something slips through your shaking hands, you always laugh it off.

**shade four**.

They are just two people, but they mean the world to you. When you look at them, everything becomes wider, everything becomes easier – believing in dreams, laughing. You wonder why they picked you from all people to join them, but you stop wondering when her eyes light up like thousand ignited candles when she talks the things she loves. You stop wondering when he grabs your hand, softly, give you that shy grin that makes your knees weak.

You look at them, and see a future. The future of a planet, maybe a whole galaxy, in their scarred, beautiful hands. They shape it, without realizing it, they don't only shape it, they are the future. You look at them, and you see a new generation, a new hope, everything you were fighting for since you joined the resistance. And they smile at you, and you always feel stunned by how _beautiful_ they are.

They look at you and see hundred percent stardust, collapsed into a human form, see roadmaps to constellations and an endless sky.

They look at you and realize how beautiful you are.

( _when they tell you, you don't believe them_ )

**shade five**.

When he tells you _you are beautifu_ l, you almost believe him.  
When you see him still wearing that jacket you gave him, you feel like you almost deserve him.  
When you whisper _i love you_ into the dark of the night when he's not listening, you almost feel hope.

The only thing you're certain about is: you love him.   
The thing that you believe in more than anything: he loves you too.

( _it's true_ )

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so star wars trash
> 
> apologize for bad writing & probably bad english
> 
> i love those dorks


End file.
